The Lubavitcher Rebbe would stand for hours the afternoon before Pesach by his room and give out hand-baked matzah as a spiritual gift. It was 1958, I was 16, and I had to get home that evening for the Seder to 167th and Jerome Avenue in the Bronx.

When I approached the Rebbe he handed me a matzah, and then he asked me to deliver Matzah to a certain family in the Bronx.

Ideally, I should have taken a taxi from the subway station, asked the driver to wait, delivered the matzah, so I could return home in time for our Seder. But life is seldom ideal. It was already late, the sun was about to set, and it was almost Passover, so I walked.

Heading in the general direction of Pelham Parkway, I kept asking people where the address was. One helpful soul told me, “Son, you’ve got a long way to go!”

The address turned out to be in a big housing project. I knocked on the door and out came a potbellied man with no shirt, sporting tattoos. I was shocked, and wondered. “Was the Rebbe sending this guy Matzah?”

“What is it?” he snapped. In the Bronx, they snap when greeting someone. “Excuse me, are you Mr. So-and-So?” I asked. “Yeah,” he said.

I noticed a loaf of rye bread on the table, definitely not traditional Seder food. I said, “The Rebbe sent me.”

“The Rebbe? Oh, please come in,” he said. The tiny kitchen contained a table, chairs and a hot plate. I didn’t understand what I was doing there, delivering matzah to a family that wasn’t even celebrating Passover. Then I thought, perhaps that’s exactly why I was there.

I asked the man if he’d like to have a Seder. He agreed, and called in his wife, visibly pregnant, with two beautiful little girls, five or six years old, trailing behind. Both girls were blind.

We cleared off the table. I put my hat on the man’s head and said, “Okay, we’re having a Seder!” I tried to remember the blessings in the proper order, but it was difficult without a Haggadah.

We ate the matzah, and used water and paper cups to represent the four cups of wine. I tried to think what the Rebbe would do if he was here. I looked at the little girls and at their mother, about to have another child.

I told them that we have to have faith. On this night, G-d liberated our ancestors from slavery, and He liberates us, now, too. The husband and wife hung on to every word, nourished just by listening.

I told them that on Passover, we journey through our personal Egypt to freedom, and that G-d doesn’t put on our shoulders more than we can carry. Once you know that, you’re liberated. We sang songs with the children and the time flew by.

At 1:00 a.m., the woman put the girls to bed, but before I left, I had to ask the man how he knew the Rebbe.

It turned out he was a leather tanner, and he became acquainted with a rabbi (probably the kosher supervisor) who worked in another section of the meat plant. Several months ago, the woman became pregnant, and since their other children were born blind, their doctor recommended an abortion.

The man was very depressed and didn’t know what to do. So he asked this rabbi, who suggested that he write a letter to the Lubavitcher Rebbe. The Rebbe wrote back, urging them to have faith in G-d and have the child.

As I was about to leave, the man said, “You know, my wife and I weren’t sure. How are we supposed to have faith? How are we supposed to have hope? But after hearing tonight about faith, and how G-d gives us the strength to overcome our personal restrictions, we understand.”

Their son was born fully sighted. I lost track of this family, but years later I learned that the girls got married and each had several children, all sighted.

This year April 2 (11 Nissan) marks the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s 102th birthday. To fully describe the Rebbe’s incredible love and concern for every Jew everywhere would be impossible. The best I can do is to share my personal experience with this poor family living in a housing project for the blind in the Bronx, and how the Rebbe had faith hand-delivered to their door.